The Great Miraculous Heist
by Soda Khan
Summary: When Master Fu is injured by an old foe, the miraculous are unprotected. Good thing there are no thieves about!
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys! I got the idea for this while I was recovering from an illness, so it's got a certain going-crazy-staring-at-the-ceiling quality I'm kind of pleased with? I don't know. I had no idea how to summarize it or what to call it, so I'm glad you clicked! Thank you for taking this chance, and I hope you like it! I'm sorry it's weird!_

_And, just to be clear, the opinions of the narrator are not my own. In fact, I disagree with him about a lot of things..._

* * *

This is a story that takes place a very long time ago, concerning people who are now either dead or too elderly to mind their secrets being exposed to the world (an unexpected bonus of getting old - some would argue the _only_ bonus of getting old - is learning that the only person's opinion that should matter to you is your own). I, myself, feature in a key role. Perhaps I saved the world. I like to think so, but you can make up your own mind when you get to that part.

Although, at the very least, I should get some credit for rounding up all of this information and putting it into a story that's as accurate as I can possibly make it. Back in those days, it wasn't easy to do this kind of thing, without all of this wikipedia and google nonsense you young people have today. You're spoiled. None of you have to learn to track down sources and corroborate dates, the computer does it all for you. Would I have taken such luxuries in my youth if I could've? Absolutely not! Legwork builds character! All of this twittering you do makes you bird-headed!

But enough about the present day, you must draw your mind back to a time and place that will seem incredibly foreign to you. Rome in the late 1950's. What was I, a fine upstanding Frenchman, doing in Rome back then? You'll see when we get there. Netflix has made you impatient, with all the episodes happening at once in front of you so you watch the ending on your phone while the beginning happens on the television. Real stories happen in their own time, with a beginning, a middle, and an end, and this one is no different.

It starts with a girl called Una Nocciola. If you know any Italian, you know that's a very stupid name. But she was only sort of Italian, her mother was English and her father was American, and both of them were fond of this old poem by a fellow who lived at the same time as Shakespeare, and in the poem there's a fairy queen or something called Una. So they called their daughter after her without any thought to how it would work combined with the surname, and that's how she wound up being called Una Nocciola. (I assume, but have been unable to verify, that somewhere back in the family tree are hazelnut farmers.)

Una was studying at the American Overseas School of Rome, an institute created to cater to the children of embassy and military personnel who were stationed in Italy following the end of the Second World War. If you're not familiar with the war, you can look it up on your beloved internet. She was very strong on languages with good Italian, versatile English from her parents, and decent French. There was that slight quack in her accent that all Americans seem to get, but it was endearing and made her sound like a cheerful little duck. She had a short frame, a mop of curls cut in the pixie style favoured by Hollywood starlets of the time, large glasses, and a sparkling smile. That's what I remember the most about her. When she smiled, it lit up not just the room but the whole city block that room was on. People on the street going about their business, totally unaware that Una was smiling in some nearby apartment, would feel a sudden radiant glow take over their hearts, and they thought about doing something kind, like reading to people in hospitals or buying candy for the local children.

Una herself was completely unaware of this magical smile, and much preferred to pull serious faces while she studied serious subjects. This is why she liked Rome. It's a city of two personalities (you might think that's exciting, but Paris has four personalities and many more interesting ghosts), a very modern and relaxed personality that's a bit snooty if you ask me, and a serious old personality that stretches back thousands of years. This old personality charmed Una. Her favourite place to visit quickly became the Temple of Mithras deep beneath the city. Nowadays, we know much more about these strange underground temples, but back then you couldn't go on a guided tour of pre-lit spaces, it was dark and rather creepy with a whiff of chthonic paganism.

"I suppose I liked the sense of mystery," Una told me many years after all of this was over. "You know, the cults that worshipped Mithras came over from Persia, and weren't strictly speaking Roman. So it was also kind of interesting to see a culture that had truly invaded Rome, down to the bones of the city, instead of the other way around. And there were questions about who these cultists were, what they did in those spaces, and why so many of them were so closely geographically tied to churches that were built in the Renaissance era. It's the sort of thing that really appeals to teenage girls."

It was while she was in this subterranean world that she first came across the old man.

The temples were uncrowded places, to say the least. Occasionally, university students and academics would come to take a look, but they were much more likely to be keen on seeing the old forum, which was only a stone's throw away from Una's preferred temple. It was a quiet place, but it wasn't totally unheard of to come across another soul down there. Nevertheless, Una was surprised when one afternoon she overheard two voices quarrelling in a language she wasn't familiar with. One of them was quite harsh, a deep baritone that sounded very agitated. The other was a mellow voice rustling with age, the way dried leaves rustled on an autumn tree that knew the long winter was coming.

The shadows of the two figures flickered against the stone walls.

"It wasn't like in Tintin, I couldn't see their silhouettes like flawless cartoons as the tall one shoved the short one," Una said later. "I could just hear the voices, and had a sort of sense of where in the tunnels they were, and that something went wrong. The one with the deeper voice got very aggressive all at once, and knocked the old fellow down. It was a disgusting sound, _thwack!_ Have you ever heard a skull land like a watermelon falling off a truck? I was terrified, and a little sick to my stomach."

Despite her misgivings, Una ran in the direction of the old man to try to help. The ancient stone floors seemed to want to slip out from under her feet, and the shadows hid corners and cracks that could have tripped her straight into a casket.

"I was young," I remember her chuckling. "Honestly, it wasn't so much nobility as naivety. If it had happened a couple of years later, I would've had the good sense to hurry upstairs to call for an ambulance or the police and leave well-enough alone."

But that's not what she did, and as a result the course of history was altered forever. As you become older, you may find it amusing how such small things can matter on such a large scale, while causes you devote entire decades to come to nothing but dust. Or perhaps you may not. They have always seemed to me like God's favourite sort of joke.

In Una's case, a brief impulse towards kindness ensnared her in a cosmic ballet older than human comprehension itself. Which, I think you will agree, is a hell of a punchline.

By the time she reached the old man - a small Chinese fellow in a garish shirt with the look of a perpetual tourist about him - the assailant had fled the scene. Lucky for her, she later realized. She was not yet used to the kind of person who was willing to kill to get what he wanted.

The old man was unconscious but breathing, a dreadful bloody bruise oozing on the side of his head. She knelt down beside him and gingerly gave him a shake.

"Sir? Are you alright?" she asked him in English, then Italian, then French, then German (not the best idea, since if he'd answered that one, she couldn't have asked him anything else). He did not answer, but something remarkably strange happened as she hovered over him, wondering what to do.

(I hesitate to describe it.)

(It sounds very silly.)

(I'll do it all at once, like downing a rough drink.)

A tiny magical turtle flew out of his pocket. It was a small spirit creature called a Kwami. They are four inches tall, look like adorable baby animals, and are made out of the abstract concepts that are born between the voids of outer space thanks to the machinations of humanity.

(There, that wasn't so bad!)

(No, never mind. I feel like a total fool.)

(I should have approached that differently, but frankly it's too late and we all have to live with the embarrassing consequences. I apologize.)

The sprite was obviously distressed by the state of the old man. It flitted about his head, little turtle fins flapping in horror, gasping to itself, "Master Fu! Oh! Master Fu, oh no!"

By her own account, Una stared at it in numb confusion. To be fair, this is not the sort of thing a person sees everyday. Or expects to see ever. And I believe the turtle was speaking French, so that probably seemed strange. Later, it all made sense, but up front it was a lot to take in.

And now, I intentionally leave you in suspense about the well-being of the old man to introduce the second most important character in the story, and his very dear and handsome friend. This is an old journalism technique called _building suspense_. In your age of instant gratification, you probably don't know what _suspense_ is, but it used to be quite a popular sensation.

Picture in your mind's eye an Italian lad fresh out of school. The kind who looks like trouble right away. As soon as you saw him, you knew somebody was landing in jail, or being forced into a shotgun wedding, or robbing a bank, or something very stupid. Now, if you will, picture his very sensible French friend who had a very important job on a newspaper. Perhaps the friend is not as handsome, but he's also not as volatile. A good, reliable fellow. The sort you might pick if you prefer a mountain to a volcano, and don't mind a certain inelegant stockiness. Definitely the more sensible choice of the two.

The first time I met Graziano, a mutual acquaintance introduced me as The Frenchman. Graziano yelled: "Give us back our Mona Lisa" and tried to punch me in the face. Naturally, we became the best friends in the world.

I was nineteen and eager to be at the beginning of my career, Graziano was eighteen and less eager to be at the beginning of his. He was supposed to be learning how to run his father's gelateria, but he was supplementing the income by gambling. This was leading him towards a rough crowd of friends who lived bad lives, and I was trying my best to encourage him away from those terrible habits. (I, myself, never gambled, drank to excess, or smoked any marijuana in my life despite being in my prime at the same time as The Beatles.)

One morning, while sleeping late due to exhaustion from working very hard the night before on a very important article, Graziano knocked on my apartment door with excited fervor. The sort that was loud enough to wake everyone on the floor, or would've done if it wasn't noon and everyone hadn't already been awake. I felt quite sick to my stomach, no doubt from keeping irregular hours due to my dedication to my writing, and his knock was almost painful to hear. I tried to tell him to go away, but the words came out in a slurred groan unintelligible in any language. So I got up and let him in.

His eyes were glittering with some terrible new idea, and before he even said a proper greeting he blurted out:

"What do you think of jewel thieves? You love them, right? You're French. Arsène Lupin!"

"No."

"What do you mean, no? You don't like them?"

"I don't like them. They never get caught in books, but they get caught in real life, and do you know why? Because who owns jewels, Graziano?"

He shook his head at me.

"Ladies?" He ventured.

"_Rich_ ladies. With rich husbands and rich lovers and rich friends who also own jewels, and do you know who the police care about the most in the whole world? Rich people. And do you know those John Waynes at the luxury hotels with the white cowboy hats and the flocks of pretty girls? You know who they are?"

Graziano shook his head.

"Thugs. Thugs hired by the rich ladies to follow them around whenever they're wearing their jewels and shoot anybody who tries to steal them. So, while Arsène Lupin might get away with a good deal, out here in the real world you go to jail if you're lucky and get shot by a cowboy if you're not."

"Oh," he waived off my concern like it was a fly buzzing around his head, "that's if you don't have an insider. _I have an insider_."

The insider was a Swiss heiress named Fabienne. Graziano had met her two nights before while she was slumming it with a couple of very giggly friends. Fabienne was not giggly. She would smile and incline her head, but she never laughed at anything.

I will say, she was an exceptionally beautiful girl. Her hair was a remarkable colour, like a jar of fresh honey glowing in the sunlight, and her face was delicate and romantic except for a strong, dimpled chin. Just about anyone in Graziano's position would've been considering the idea she floated.

"There's a fellow staying at her same hotel, all the way from China," Graziano told me. "He's transporting some of the most valuable jewellery not only in the country, but in the world! He keeps a low profile to avoid attention, but those in the know are aware of his cargo. Fabienne is connected to someone who would be interested in buying the pieces at an absurd price from any thief who manages to get the loot away from the old man! Simple enough, don't you think? And no John Waynes to shoot anybody down!"

I wish I could tell you I'd had the good sense and powers of persuasion to talk him out of the whole thing, but I didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

And now, I'm sure you would like me to go back to Una and the old man. Well, tough luck! I told you once and I'm not telling you again, this is my story and I'm in charge of the order of things, and if you're so much as even thinking about scrolling down just to get to the good stuff, then shame on you!

The next thing I will do is explain to you a small bit of history.

History, you may not be aware, is what we call things that happened in the past. I'm sure you dismiss the past as irrelevant, since you cannot even bear to go three months without buying a new super phone computer for your pocket, and you probably don't care much for films and music you deem "old", but this is an arrogant mistake on your part. The past has shaped the future, and the world you live in now is defined not by what it could become, but by what is has been.

Perhaps you are wondering if the whole story so far has been history, since it seems like such a long time ago to you, but no. This is living memory. The history happened before, around the turn of the century, and involves a certain figure whose identity may come as a surprise to you.

I'm not certain how much you know about China, but I'll assume nothing since it is a country and not a pop group. In the 19th century - that is the 1800's - China was suffering from an influx of imperialistic westerners. Basically, everyone in Europe had the bright idea to try to save money on fashionable Chinese goods by taking over the country, and it wasn't necessarily so smart. For starters, everyone in China was quite resentful of them. Unfortunately, the Empress of China wasn't clear on how to stop the English and the Russians and (yes) the French, and so there was a violent rebellion that altered the country forever, and many people left out of fear for their safety.

Among those who fled were a small group tasked with protecting an ancient treasure, the Miraculous. Now, you may be thinking ancient Chinese treasures are like haunted mummies, but I can assure you that these are two very real things that you may have to face one day. I doubt it, statistically speaking, but don't be so smug you rule out all the magic in the wide world. You could find yourself very sorry as a mummy strangles you to death.

This group, the Order of Guardians, was a club with few members. Only six people in the world knew of these treasures and the powers they held, and in the process of fleeing China, the group was separated. And so were the treasures.

One member was able to hold onto the majority of items and find safety, but in doing so he lost contact with his fellows and two pieces of the treasure slipped through his fingers - perhaps forever.

_Now_ we may return to Una and the old man. (Please recall that I have mentioned he was Chinese. I know it is hard for you to keep track of things with your go-go-go attention span, so I'll make a point of reminding you this one time. From here on out, you'll be expected to keep track of details like this on your own. It's a big responsibility, and I'm not entirely sure you can handle it, but you must.)

The little floating turtle spirit dazed Una significantly. She didn't quite know what to make of it, but the kwami grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and began to shout:

"He needs a doctor! Go get a doctor!"

Una could see at once that this was both sensible and correct, so she nodded at the turtle.

"Is there anything else I can do? I don't know first aid…"

"Make a bandage to stop the bleeding, here I'll help!" The kwami swiftly tore off one of Una's sleeves. Una was too dazed to make even the slightest objection, and began wrapping the shredded cloth around the old man's head.

"I am hallucinating the turtle," she decided as she hurried up the stairs to find help. "This has been an enormous mental shock, and my conscience has manifested as a turtle instead of a cricket, and that's okay because this is an emergency and nobody is perfect."

Police and the ambulance arrived - very quickly I might add because traffic was not so bad back then - and the old man was tended to and taken out on a stretcher, the police got a very accurate statement from Una (who prudently left out the magic turtle), and that seemed to be the end of it. Until, alone and trying to recover her senses in the emptied out temple, she spotted something glittering in the darkness.

A bracelet was on the floor.

It looked Chinese, and she assumed it belonged to the old man, so she picked it up and put it in her pocket. She was thinking she would call the police station in the morning, and report the lost item, or get the name of the hospital the old man had been taken to and return it herself, or something simple along those lines.

But of course, nothing is ever simple.

I have said already that I did not support Graziano's crazy scheme to become a jewel thief. Unfortunately, one of the weaknesses of youth is a certain pliability when it comes to one's friends. With experience comes the ability to tell people they are acting like idiots, but it takes considerable practice and many big fights before you get there. Since you are probably still at the age where big fights seem like the end of the world, you can understand why I found myself going along with him to meet with Fabienne.

He wanted someone clever to help him out, but I was hoping to poke holes in her plan and slyly convince Graziano to abandon the whole endeavour.

I was not fully prepared for such a task.

In the first place, I was used to girls from our own social class. Most of them were not planning jewel heists, but every now and then one of them tried to entangle Graziano in some scheme. This was very easy to handle, I just sat with them across a little round table and listened to the idea, then I asked a question they didn't like and they got mad and picked a fight. Because we were friends, Graziano would pick my side in the fight and then the girl would just disappear from his life. And then she would put the word out that I was a snake, and it was hard for me to find a date for a couple of weeks but not forever.

See, when you're on the same social level as somebody, you have permission to ask questions and be rude. If they smash a glass or flip over a table you know which of you has to pay for it. You can scoff at their bad ideas, because none of you have been to the kinds of schools where anyone told you your ideas were ever good. All of you are in the same leaky boat, used to failure, used to arguments.

Fabienne was different in that regard.

This was immediately apparent when we went to meet her at a restaurant that I could hardly believe was in the same city as the places I ate at. There was marble carved by the likes of Donatello on the walls. The upholstery fabric on the chairs cost more per yard than I made in a year. The chandeliers were not ugly! (This was a shock, as up until then I had only seen the bourgeois chandeliers that are attempting to look like truly expensive chandeliers, and the difference is pronounced once you've seen a proper one. I feel there is a conspiracy of silence on the matter of ugly second-tier chandeliers in order for the aspiring-rich to feel good about their misguided purchases.)

Graziano looked up at the ceiling and let out a loud, satisfied whistle.

"Those are some fancy cherubs, I bet those are authentic! Look at their little bums!"

"Keep your voice down!" I scolded him, feeling crumpled and poor.

I was very much expecting the staff to be rude, as had been my experience in supposedly sophisticated restaurants before, but the opposite was true. We were very politely asked if we were meeting anyone, then told to wait as our invitation was confirmed with the lady in question, then led to her table.

It became almost immediately apparent that we had stepped into a parallel universe of the mega-wealthy. This was beyond the coldly disparaging rat-race of the average wealthy person, this was a completely different planet. The people here were extraterrestrial.

And waiting for us was the golden Venusian goddess herself, decked out in heirloom pearls and a crisp white blouse in the Dior cut. I couldn't imagine, even if she'd been dressed in her most casual clothes, that she would look like anything else but a princess in disguise. Graziano had some balls to have approached her even in one of the dives we hung out in.

Her lipstick alone looked more expensive than anything I'd ever seen, and to this day I don't know why it ought to have. Lipstick is lipstick, isn't it?

She greeted us with the coolness appropriate to a business meeting, and when we sat down Graziano embarrassed me again by blurting out:

"I've told Frenchy the whole idea, and he thinks it's magnificent!"

Fabienne's eyes landed on me as she lit herself a cigarette. I felt like I was being sized up. Were the women of Venus vampires? If so, this one was deciding whether I was a snack or a servant.

"And why do we need to know if Frenchy likes the idea?" She asked.

"Oh, he's the smartest person I've ever met! He works for a newspaper, telling everybody in the whole of France what the Pope is saying! Tell her!"

"I'm the Vatican correspondent for a Paris paper," I offered sheepishly. "Graziano told me the plan this morning, and I wanted to see if you were…"

"Trustworthy? Or a scammer?"

"...A figment of his imagination, actually," I admitted with a small laugh. Fabienne smiled and inclined her head.

"Have you told anyone else?" She asked Graziano.

"No, of course not! This is top secret! Nobody knows!"

"Except for him."

"Huh? Well, yes. He's kind of like my brain, if you get my meaning. He does all my thinking for me. Anything I know must also be known by him or else how will I manage?"

Again, Fabienne's eyes landed on me. I started to worry she might turn me to stone.

Thankfully, I remained unpetrified. Although I was very uncomfortable, as she did not look away or even blink as she spoke to Graziano.

"The old man's room is on the third floor of the hotel I mentioned to you. He is out for most of the day, looking for someone. I don't know who, and I don't know what will happen if he finds them, but it might be important. This person might be… a buyer for the jewelry. There are several pieces, but two are the most important. An earring set and a ring. Those two together are worth the most, separate a good deal, but together… they could be worth more than your life."

I hoped this was a Swiss turn of phrase I wasn't familiar with and not a threat.

"In two days, we will meet back here and you will give me the jewelry. That is all."

I swallowed nervously and looked at Graziano. He was writing down 'third floor' on a napkin and shoving it in his pocket. It was an expensive cloth napkin, but this seemed to bother no one but me.

"What happens if we do not show up here in two days?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't think you'd like to know that. It might put you off."

She added nothing else before summoning a waiter, and we were tossed out of the place with impressive efficiency.

I stood dumbfounded on the sidewalk. Graziano slapped me on the back and announced:

"Better get started!"

That same afternoon, in another part of the city, Una Nocciola was coming home after the very stressful events in the Temple of Mithras. She was exhausted and mostly wanted to climb into bed, fall asleep, and not wake up until the next morning. The day was not a good one, so dragging it out seemed like a bad idea.

When she unlocked and opened the apartment door, she found her father crouched in front of one of the living room bookcases adding research books to a large stack on the floor. He absent-mindedly said hello and asked about her day. She said an old man nearly died and she had to call an ambulance, and her father said that sounded nice and kept rummaging through the books.

Una went into her room and fell onto her bed face-first with her clothes on. Something in her pocket make an uncomfortable lump beneath her hip bone. She remembered the bracelet and pulled it out. It didn't look like anything she'd ever seen before, it was made of strong black cord with a geometric pattern in the center. Out of curiosity - certainly with no intention of keeping it - Una rolled onto her back and slipped it on. She held out her wrist and admired it.

A strange noise filled her ears, and the turtle kwami appear in front of her again.

"Oh, I'm still in shock. That's not such a surprise."

"I'm not a hallucination from shock, and that is not your bracelet! You thief! Help, police! Thief! I have been stolen against my will from Master Fu! Help me! HELP MEEEEEE!"

Una was overwhelmed with panic, and not thinking straight. The police do not respond to melodramatic magic turtles. This whole thing was a hollow threat.

"No, no, shhh! Calm down! I didn't steal anything, I'm not a thief! Remember me? I helped you and the old man?"

This seemed to placate the turtle, who stopped shouting but still regarded Una with suspicion.

"Well… if you're not a thief, how come you have the bracelet?"

"It fell off of your friend when the ambulance drivers came and got him, I was only wearing it for a little while, I was just about to call the police station and tell them I found it!"

The turtle looked very worried all of a sudden and zoomed up to Una's face.

"No, don't do that! Please! This bracelet could fall into very dangerous hands!"

Una blinked twice, slowly.

"I'm going to be completely honest with you, I'm very overwhelmed and not totally comprehending what you're saying to me."

The turtle, who introduced himself as Wayzz, did not explain much to her at that moment. He simply demanded she call around and try to find out what hospital the old man, Master Fu, had landed in. The police were remarkably unhelpful in this regard, and Una soon found herself at a dead-end.

"This is terrible!" Wayzz lamented, "Oh no! And now the other Miraculous are unguarded! We have to do something! What's your name?"

"Una? Una Nocciola?"

"...doesn't that mean One Hazelnut?"

"I think we've got more going on right now. Could we maybe come back to that later?"

"You have to take me to the Grand Hotel by the colosseum!"

"Can I do it tomorrow? I'm very tired."

"No! No, no! There are bad people about, and you need to step up, Hazelnut! Now, let's get going!"

And this is how Una and Graziano found themselves on a fateful collision course.


End file.
